Baldwin swore under his breath. There was nothing he could do that was safe.
‘Even if you make it back to England, what then?’ Simon said. ‘Won’t you still be in the same danger there?’
‘It is possible,’ Baldwin allowed. ‘But what else can I do?’
‘Stay here, remain with the Queen, and perhaps she can protect you.’
‘I don’t think she can …’
And that was the rub. If the King of France decided that there was money or some other advantage to be gained by destroying Baldwin, he would do so instantly. He was ruthless, the last of the Capetian line. It was his father who had utterly broken the Templars, and Charles would be content to see another Templar burned at the stake. No matter how much Isabella tried to protect Baldwin, in the end, even if she desired to, she must succumb to her brother’s authority. Not least because her embassy about Guyenne was so important.
‘I am sure Queen Isabella would protect you,’ Simon was saying earnestly.
It made Baldwin smile to himself. The idea that anyone could protect a Templar against King Charles IV was so innocent, so entirely wrong, that it was enough to make a man laugh aloud.
Still, even laughter was a form of defence. If he showed no fear or concern, it would make any such allegations less believable. Were he to ride suddenly for the coast, it would surely make him an easy target. A fleeing man in a strange country must be suspicious, and the suspicious would all too often be arrested. Better perhaps to brazen it out, if there were any accusations. So long as he was not forced to lie. To deny his Order would be hard, but to agree that the Templars were evil, that they committed terrible crimes, would be all but impossible.
‘What is it?’
‘Very well,’ Baldwin said. ‘I shall remain. We shall do all we can to seek the killer of Paul. Not that there is much we can hope to achieve. We know no one here.’
And it was that thought which occupied his mind as they meandered about the streets of Paris. There was little point in stopping men to question them. There was nobody who had a motive, so far as Baldwin knew, other than the man he had already spoken to. And Mortimer had been convincing. Much though he disliked admitting it even to himself, he found himself instinctively trusting Mortimer. He had seemed rather too much like Baldwin himself a few years ago. Baldwin knew what it was to lose everything; to have position, wealth, even friends and comrades, ripped from him. Mortimer had suffered the same. He even had a death sentence hanging over him, just as Baldwin did.
Yes. Wandering aimlessly around the greatest city in Christendom, Baldwin came to be convinced that Mortimer was more likely than not to be speaking the truth.
It was as he decided to trust the man that Baldwin caught sight of a familiar figure.
Simon saw his eyes narrow. ‘What is it?’
Baldwin was frowning ahead. ‘That man, there. See him?’
‘The executioner from the King’s gibbet, isn’t he?’
‘Not him, no. The slender fellow in the tatty clothes behind him. I think he’s the man I saw on the day that the old man was killed and Robert de Chatillon injured. It looks like him.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘I saw him momentarily – I can’t be certain, no, but it definitely looks like him.’
‘Then let us catch him, Baldwin,’ Simon said.
They moved off after the fellow. Observing him with great care, Baldwin felt convinced that the man was moving with a set purpose, and it was no time before he came to the conclusion that the fellow was himself trailing the executioner.
At this time of the morning, the streets were filled with the noise of the population. It was not a market day, but the shops were doing a brisk trade in bread, cakes, pies and other foodstuffs, and the raucous shouting of wares was deafening.
It was not only their ears which were assaulted, though. The people of Paris enjoyed wearing bright colours, and in the sunlight after the last few days of rain Simon felt as though his eyes were being burned out by the garish clothing worn all about him. And the odours! Poorly tanned leather, sweat-soaked wool, old, slightly rancid linen that had been bleached in fermented urine once too often without being washed properly, and over all the smell of excrement, that pervasive tang that spoke of any city anywhere.
A sumpter horse clopped past, and Simon lost sight of their man for a moment, but then he caught sight of the executioner, and a matter of only two or three paces behind was the man Baldwin had last seen at Poissy. ‘Come on, Baldwin!’ Simon exclaimed, and darted off again.
The executioner turned left now, and the two saw the stalker’s elbow rise beneath his cloak, and then seem to move as though concealing something.
‘He’s drawn a dagger, Simon,’ Baldwin breathed, and then he bellowed: ‘EXECUTIONER, ’WARE THAT MAN! SHEATHE YOUR KNIFE, CHURL!’
The executioner turned in surprise, and saw Baldwin, but then he noticed the man who was just a little too close behind him, and saw the blade. He threw himself sideways as the knife slipped by where his belly would have been, and bounced off the wall. In a moment, he had his own knife out, but already the attacker had retreated into the Paris mob. Amidst the screams of women who thought they had witnessed a murder, he bolted up the street.
Simon and Baldwin took off after him, pelting up the cobbles, but in a short time it was obvious that they would not catch him. The throng was too tightly packed in the narrow thoroughfare, and whereas one man could slip from one side to the other, and gradually make headway, two men together could not. Baldwin and Simon tried their hardest, but in a short time had to accept defeat.
‘Master, I am indebted to you,’ Arnaud said, bending low and introducing himself. ‘You saved my life.’
‘And you can return the favour by telling me about that man there. Why did he want to kill you?’
Arnaud looked at them over the rim of his cup, sipping slowly.
To Simon’s mind, he had the look of a cunning toad. His wide-set eyes were quick and shrewd, and the bailiff instinctively disliked his appearance. A lot of the brutality of his way of life had been scored into his flesh, from the look of his cold, unfeeling expression. There was little enough there to commend him, certainly. And the thought of the number of men he had killed or maimed in his life made him repellent. Simon had the feeling that were he to touch the man, a little of the misery and anguish he had caused over the years would pass on to him.
Baldwin was clearly much less bothered by him. ‘So you are called Arnaud? And you are a public executioner?’
‘Yes. I punish those the King tells me to. I’ve been working for the King for many years.’
‘But that man? Who was he?’
The executioner snorted and sat back in his seat, shaking his head slowly. ‘He is a devil. The devil, perhaps. He was a guard at a royal castle with me—’
‘Château Gaillard,’ Simon said flatly.
‘Yes,’ Arnaud agreed, his cold eyes going to the bailiff with a measuring assessment. He appeared not to like what he saw, and transferred his gaze to Baldwin. ‘I was there too. His name is Jean. Often called Jean de Pamiers. He was a guard at the castle while I was there as the King’s gaoler.’
‘So you were in charge of the prisoners there?’
‘Sort of.’
Simon snapped, ‘What does that mean? You were or you weren’t.’
‘I was mostly responsible for one prisoner.’
‘Ah,’ said Baldwin. ‘And here, I think, we come to the point, don’t we?’
‘He was intensely jealous of me. I think that’s what started to send him mad,’ Arnaud said reflectively. ‘But it wasn’t his fault. You can’t imagine what it was like there in that castle over the cliffs, stuck there for month after month, and never a chance of being freed. For me, it wasn’t so bad. I am used to such jobs in the King’s service, but for men like Jean it was much more difficult.’
‘Why?’
‘I was allowed to wander, but the other guards were there for a s
et time, and weren’t supposed to consort with the townspeople or anything. But they were men, just like you or me, and they had the need of companionship. Women.’
‘You didn’t?’
Arnaud looked away. Then he suddenly closed his eyes and his shoulders began to shake a little. ‘I didn’t feel the need to leave the castle.’
‘What do you mean?’ Baldwin asked.
‘I fell in love,’ Arnaud said simply. ‘She was so beautiful, so brave and soft-mannered, it was hardly surprising. She always spoke to me kindly. You know? No one has ever spoken to me like that before,’ he added quietly, staring into his cup. After a moment’s reflection, he up-ended it and drained it defiantly. ‘Yes. I fell in love with the King’s wife.’
‘Christ’s ballocks,’ Simon breathed. ‘You mean to say you …’
‘She loved me too. Ach, I couldn’t do much for her. When all’s said and done, she was used to living with silks and decent beds. What could I do to provide that sort of thing? No, but at least I could make her life a little more comfortable. I found her some sheepskins, some warmer slippers, and an undershift to ease the pain of her rough sackcloth. Oh, and a warm woollen cap to cover her poor head. They’d shorn her of all her hair before she was brought to the prison.’
Simon shook his head. The idea of this fellow pawing at the poor woman was revolting. Simon remembered Montfaucon, with all the corpses lined up on that hideous gibbet, and this man up there among the rotting faces, cutting one down to make room for a fresh hanging. It made him feel sick.
‘And she was grateful to you,’ Baldwin said.
‘I suppose so. Although, maybe it was something else. She was always very polite, very respectful, but all the other men just took the rise out of her. They joked about her, you know, offensively.’
‘All of them? You were the only man there who was kind to her, then?’ Simon asked sarcastically.
‘Simon!’ Baldwin hissed. Then, ‘What of Jean?’
‘He wasn’t like the rest. I think he said once he’d lost a wife. Maybe that made it easier for him to be nice to her. What would she see in him, though, any more’n she’d see something in me? That was why he got jealous.’
‘Why?’
‘Because her and me, we got close. Used to go there to the cell door and talk to her. She told me all about her life in castles and palaces and that, and I told her a bit about me.’
‘Like, “men I have killed”? “Women I have tortured”? “Children I’ve slaughtered”?’ Simon demanded sharply.
Arnaud looked over at him. ‘You want to know about the people I’ve killed? I’ve killed many. Very many. But where would the law be without the punishments? If you don’t have men like me, you don’t have the law, and without the law the world is mad. You need me and my kind, master. You think you’re so much better than me? You’re happy enough to see people sent to the gallows, aren’t you? But you just don’t want to do that last little job, do you? Actually kill them. You want to know someone’s done it for you. I suppose it’s like meat. You’re happy for a butcher to kill a steer, but you don’t want to do it yourself, nor skin it and gut it. You’re happy to know that a murderer has been captured, glad to see he’s been punished. I dare say you like going to watch him dance his last on the King’s evergreen tree, eh? But you hate me because I do it and save you and others the effort. I wouldn’t like to think you’d be upset by having to put the rope round the man’s neck. That would be nasty, wouldn’t it?’
‘You kill for a living. I am happy to know that the law is upheld and punishments are carried out, but there’s a difference between that and enjoying the job.’
‘You think I like what I do?’ Arnaud stared at him, long and hard. ‘Yes. You think I’m a monster because I end lives. But at least I do what I may to ease their ends. I don’t leave men to suffer without need.’
‘Enough! We are talking about the Château Gaillard,’ Baldwin said. ‘This man Jean – what more can you tell us about him? What happened between you and him? Why did he try to attack you?’
‘Jealousy. He saw how well I was getting on with my Lady Blanche, and he wanted to have time with her too. But then the orders came.’
‘What orders?’ Baldwin asked, eyes narrowed.
Arnaud shook his head, staring down at the table. Baldwin beckoned the innkeeper, and soon a fresh pot of ale was placed on their table. ‘The King wanted a divorce. At any cost. So he asked that she be proved to have been an adulterer.’
Simon shrugged. ‘Why ask you? There must have been others he could turn to who were used to spying, surely.’
Baldwin glanced at him with a face blanched in horror. ‘Don’t you understand, Simon? The King ordered his wife to be raped so that they could show her adultery in gaol. Whether she had been forced or not, the fact that she had had intercourse would demonstrate that she was no longer chaste and perfect. She could not be queen. Her marriage to the King would have to be annulled.’
‘I couldn’t let it happen to her, sir. I couldn’t. I love her. So … I told her what had been suggested, and she was glad to … to let me. And some months later, there was proof.’
‘She was delivered of a child?’
‘Our little boy. Yes. He was a lovely little thing, sir. Beautiful, and sweet.’
‘Where is he now?’
‘He died. Youngsters often do.’
Simon looked away. He had lost his own son to a fever. It still hurt to think of it.
‘I had heard that Lady Blanche had taken the veil,’ Baldwin agreed. ‘But what of that man Jean?’
‘He wanted her. He was mad with jealousy, sir. When he heard that Blanche was with child, he went berserk. And then, later, Blanche was taken away from us all. Ah, God, that was a terrible day. I was driven mad myself. I love her, sir. The idea that she was going was bad, but to know that I’d never be able to see her again, that she’d take up the veil at a nunnery, that was just … I could hardly bear it. And Jean was worse. He wanted her. So did some of the others. Berengar worse than most.’
‘Berengar?’
‘One of the other guards. He’d been there since the Queen first arrived. A week or two after she’d gone, he suddenly went insane. He started shouting that there were evil ones all about him, and drew a knife. Well, we were all handy with our weapons, like any man, but when you see a fellow start dribbling and foaming, and then he begins to lay about him with a long blade, well, it’s enough to make you stand back and be cautious, you know? So we all stood back, like I say, and our oldest, le Vieux, went to try to calm him down.’
‘Le Vieux? The Old Man?’
‘Never knew his real name. He was always called that. Anyway, he went in, and was struck down by a knock on his head. Fell like a poleaxed bull. Thump, straight down. And Berengar got the rest of us in a corner and started to stab at us all. He killed three, I think, before running off. I went after him to try to get him – he only scratched my arm here and here.’ He pulled up his right sleeve to show two long scars, each four or five inches long, both of them badly healed with thick, ugly stitch marks where the flesh had been pulled together. ‘But he got nearly as far as the town. Luckily, he saw some men in a field, and tried to kill them too, and I caught up with him and put him on the ground and cut his throat. Had to do it. At least I was trained in how to do it and end his misery before anyone else was harmed,’ he said, staring hard at Simon.
‘And Jean?’
‘He wasn’t in the guard room at that time. When I got back, he’d gone. I think he saw the bodies and just bolted in terror. There’s not every man who can cope with a slaughterhouse like that. Luckily I found le Vieux and pulled him out. He was all right after a while, and I was able to get him to a physician and have him seen to. And my own wounds, too. The man I saw was more used to healing calves, though, I reckon,’ he said with a rueful grimace before pulling his sleeve back down over the wounds.
‘Why would Jean hunt you down here?’
‘He had attack
ed and murdered le Vieux at Poissy already.’
‘I thought so. I saw him there with le Vieux.’
Arnaud shrugged. ‘I think he is still jealous of me with Blanche. Don’t know why he did that to le Vieux.’
‘And the other man, Robert de Chatillon. Why would he attack him?’
‘Well, Robert de Chatillon was the Comte de Foix’s man, and he hired us all to go to the château. Perhaps he blamed him for setting us all there? Or blamed him for allowing the lady to be molested.’
‘But you stopped her from being attacked,’ Simon said. ‘Or so you say.’
Arnaud looked a little shifty. ‘I stopped the others from raping her.’
‘It was only you did that, then?’ Simon noted. He curled his lip. Now he was sure of the facts: the woman had been forced to lie with this man. He raped her alone. Better that, perhaps, than a gang-rape by some number of guards, but for a woman born noble it would be an indignity close to horror. It would be a wonder if her mind hadn’t been broken. And her heart.
‘You can think what you like. I love her, and I petitioned the Comte to allow me to sleep with her and save her from the others. He agreed. Robert de Chatillon came to tell us all, and perhaps that made Jean even more bloody pissed at me. So he tried to kill me.’
‘But why follow you all the way here and try to kill you here?’ Baldwin wondered.
‘He is a southerner. You can’t tell what goes on in their minds half the time.’
‘Well, he is free now, and wandering the streets. You must be careful.’
‘Baldwin, I do not trust this man at all. Why should that guard come seeking him? Why should he begin a blood feud after this man raped the King’s wife? If he did, surely it’s because he wanted to stop an executioner raping a noblewoman.’
‘You don’t trust me? All I’ve done is walk down the street today, and you had to save me from an assassin. Now I’ve told you my story, and in return you call me a liar?’ Arnaud spat. His face had grown black with anger, and now he set his hand to his dagger’s hilt.
The Templar, the Queen and Her Lover: (Knights Templar 24) Page 32